


Odinson

by elenatria



Series: Thorki [11]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers - Freeform, Avengers 4 speculation, Destiny, Gen, Hel - Freeform, Infinity War, Sacrifice, Thorki - Freeform, Valhalla, dr strange's plan, loki's fate, thanos - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-05-06 07:05:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14636603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenatria/pseuds/elenatria
Summary: Loki didn't die for no reason. Dr Strange had a plan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr](http://elenatria.tumblr.com/)   
> 

                                                                                

 

 

 

“We have the Hulk…”

In retrospect, Loki thought, it was genuinely amusing to hear Thanos talking about misplaced optimism.

This had nothing to do with optimism. This was mere facts.

Or maybe he had acquired a connection with this Midgardian impostor after he had been exposed to his “magic”. Maybe he had felt him coming. Maybe he could see the imminent appearance of the magical portal with his mind’s eye, that luminous disc, as bright as the sun waiting to shine on them both.

As soon as he pushed his brother out of harm’s way, hurling himself at Thor in a desperate attempt to keep him away from Thanos even if just for a few seconds, Loki heard a sound a bit too familiar, although it seemed like ages since he had last seen that burning hole in the air. The harnessed energy in the form of a sparkling ring revealed the Sorcerer Supreme who stepped out of it like he was walking out of his front door.

Loki lifted his head from the floor furrowing his brow in utter bewilderment.

“What…?” he panted.

Stephen Strange put his finger on his mouth, shushing him.

Loki gave Thor a look; his brother was unconscious from the fall. Loki winced in pain at the thought of not being able to protect his brother's head but he decided to worry about that later. He got up, mustering as much arrogance as he could under the circumstances. He had never got to finish his sentence the last time he had come face to face with this charlatan.

“Second-rate sorcerer,” he greeted the man with a sarcastic little bow.

“God of Mischief,” Dr Strange returned the bow, ignoring his snark. “We have no time, destiny has dire plans for-“

“Yes yes,” Loki interrupted him, “my brother told me all about you. What do you know of destiny? A mere mortal.”

“I’ve seen the future, Your Highness,” the sorcerer insisted. “You play a big part in the fate of all living beings and unless you make Thanos kill you now, humanity -  the whole _universe_ is doomed.”

“I… I cannot die…” Loki said turning to Thor’s unconscious body, making sure he was still breathing. “Not now. My brother needs me.”

“You will be more useful to him when you’re dead,” Dr Strange said firmly.

Loki felt his chest stiffen. He could tell the Midgardian charlatan meant every word. A shiver ran down his spine. The sorcerer’s tone was so compelling, so absolute that for a moment Loki felt powerless, desperate; he felt as if he was talking to destiny itself. It was an uncanny feeling.

“You have to die,” Dr Strange continued. “You have to go to Hel to summon an army of dead soldiers for your brother. This is the only way to defeat Thanos. He can kill half of the living population with a snap of his fingers but he cannot kill the _dead_. Do you understand me?”

“Hel? It is the place for those dying of old age or sickness, in their beds. It is not a place for warriors.”

“The rules have changed since Surtur destroyed Asgard. Hela’s bond with her home world didn’t let her go back to Hel unaccompanied. She emptied Valhalla of every soldier, every warrior. She took them all with her.”

“She… My sister won’t let me,” Loki shook his head, disheartened. “If this is where Surtur sent her – Hel – then she’s in her realm, her territory. The Goddess of Death cannot die and she’d never give up her army for the sake of the living.”

“And this is where you come into play,” the Sorcerer Supreme smiled placing his hand on Loki’s shoulder. “You’re silver-tongued in life, you’ll be silver-tongued in death. I have seen the future, Your Highness, you’re meant to summon an army of the dead. You’re meant to die.”

Loki wasn’t listening anymore - his eyes were fixed on Thor’s body who was coming round. He wished he had a bit more time with his brother. He wished things didn’t have to end so soon for them when they had hardly begun. He wished he could turn back time so that they would hug instead of joking about it and throwing bottle stoppers at each other.

“Why should I trust you?” Loki turned to Strange with a hoarse voice. “How do I know these are not the hallucinations of a weak deranged mind?”

“You can read minds, can you not?” the Master of the Mystic Arts said. “Read mine,” he urged him closing his eyes.

Loki reached out hesitantly and touched his forehead. A flash of horrible blinding light filled his brain and he saw the future, all of it, in one terrifying second.

He gasped and fell on his knees.

“Is this really the future?” he panted trembling, unable to face the sorcerer.

“Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead," said Strange. "But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change. What you saw is the future only if you play your part in it. If we _all_ play our part in it. For now I am the keeper of secrets and a mere player on the chessboard of destiny. I can only predict so much and intervene as fates would allow. If the pawns have a will of their own and follow different paths I have no power to undo the damage Thanos will bring upon all living things. _Do you understand me?...”_

Loki took a deep breath. He could feel the panic and helplessness welling up in his chest as he heard Thanos punching the Hulk, crushing him against the walls, their grunts and roars echoing in the wrecked refugee ship. On the floor next to him he saw the beloved blond head swaying weakly as his brother struggled to get up and he knew then that Thor would never let him do it. He would never let him kill himself.

He had to take a swift decision.

“Alright,” he agreed trying to keep his voice from shaking. “I will do it.”

The Sorcerer Supreme nodded with relief.

“But I won’t do it for humanity,” Loki said emphatically, a hint of royal pride and godly resentment in his voice. He didn’t look at his brother for he knew that if he did, a mere glance at that sweet tortured face would make him change his mind. That moment he had no room for love in him, certainly not for the kind of love that made it hard to say goodbye. That moment he needed the kind of love that would steel his heart.

“I won’t do it for the universe. I will do it for my brother.”

The Master of the Mystic Arts smiled. “Fair enough,” he said conjuring a luminous circle with a wave of his hands.  “Maybe there is no difference after all. I hope you find painless death, Your Highness, and I pray to see you again. I pray to see _all of us_ again. Goodbye.”

And with the whooshing sound of flying sparks the Sorcerer Supreme vanished into thin air.

Loki was too distracted by Strange’s departure to notice his brother staggering to his feet and picking up a piece of metal to strike Thanos. He wished he hadn’t but he chose to not intervene, to remain in the shadows as he watched Thor’s aimless attempts to fight the Mad Titan. He had to suffer seeing him being imprisoned in a metal cage and witness Heimdall being assassinated right in front of him. The old fool didn’t deserve that kind of death, he thought regretfully. The old _friend_.

Thanos smashed the Tesseract and placed the space gem in his gauntlet. Any minute now he would teleport away from the ship. It was now or never.

“If I might interject…”

That was it – that was Loki’s final chance. In those final breathing seconds, in between meaningless sentences and pompous little speeches he thought of Hel. He thought of Valhalla. His breathing was heavy now. He should be going to Valhalla after this, he pondered numbly, he should be able to see his _mother_. Not Hel, no, Norns, he didn’t deserve a place there. He should be able to hold Frigga in his arms again, after all he’d been through, after all the torment and the loneliness, the guilt and the desperation he deserved a little bit of happiness, he had earned it dammit, hadn't he? He had-

There was no time. He had to say goodbye to Thor. He had to die.

 

_He thought of crows._

Two black crows waiting to take his soul away. A wrinkled face with one eye, so similar to his brother’s face. Warm and welcoming.

Maybe he wasn’t joining his mother after all.

Maybe he was about to join his father. In Hel.

And that was good. It _had_ to be.

 

That final thought gave him courage.

He lifted his eyes upon Thor. The eye-patch, the same blue gaze.

 

_I love you more than anything in this world._

_You’re all I have._

 

“Odinson.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr Strange's quote about the future was taken from "A Christmas Carol".


	2. Valhalla, I am coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the end of Infinity War and the annihilation of half of the universe's population by Thanos, Thor has abandoned Earth - there's not much he and Rocket Racoon can do there anymore. However he's still plagued by the same old nightmares he's been seeing ever since Scarlet Witch cast her spell on him. Glimpses of dreams he had forgotten, shadows from the past luring him to Valhalla.  
> Or Hel.

 

 _“_ _Is it him? Is that the first son of Odin?”_

How many times had he seen Heimdall in his dreams since he died on the Statesman?

How many?

Sometimes it was a soothing nostalgic vision, Asgard’s gatekeeper sitting at the water’s edge, the shimmering light of the lake blinding Thor, forcing him to cover his eyes until he could discern the crouching figure in the gilded armour, outlined by the water’s glow, almost dissolving into it like gold melting into a mirror. No matter how hard he tried he could never see his friend’s dark face, he would shade his eyes and squint trying to make out his ragged features but he never saw details, as if there was water all around him blurring his vision, as if he was losing his sight. Still, he could always hear Heimdall’s warm and comforting voice. He was telling him everything was going to be alright.

Sometimes he saw Heimdall in his dreadlocks, sparring with him in the palace’s courtyard, training, sweating and grunting. Thor missed those days when he was younger, when he was a prince, when he was Heimdall’s student in battle. In his dream he knew he never got to train with him when he was Asgard’s fugitive dressed in rags with his long locks framing his proud withered face. However Thor wished he was there for him when his brother, disguised as Odin, persecuted him for negligence of duty. Maybe that’s what Heimdall’s vision with the dreadlocks was there for; to appease his guilt.

_His brother._

That was usually the worst part of the dream, of every dream, the reminder that he did have a brother once. Sometimes he dreamed of unknown people being his relatives, smiling aunts and uncles and cousins and nieces he had never met in his life who yet felt so familiar. He sometimes dreamt of his sisters, tiny golden-haired princesses with rosy cheeks and bright smiles, cheerful little birds that he felt he knew since birth. He knew their dimples, their freckles, the scent of powder his mother used cleaning them up when they were babies, their favourite toys, their favourite songs. But even in his most realistic and blissful dreams of having a brand new family, a family he never knew he had, he had this eerie feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Somehow he knew he didn’t have sisters around when growing up, certainly not those angel-like creatures.

He had a brother.

Maybe his mind was trying to make him forget about his previous life as a prince, as a warrior and a leader – and as Loki's brother. Maybe it was trying to give him a surrogate family, one that didn’t hurt him so much; one that was still alive in the realm of dreams.

What truly hurt him wasn’t the dream itself; it was waking up in his bleak grey bunk in the Firebird as the illusion of having a family slowly dissolved, poisoned by reality. The dream’s veils would be lifted from his sleeping mind one by one and the realizations would fill his brain gradually, one hurtful thought a time.

_My name is Thor._

_I am alive._

_This is my body lying in a hole in the wall._

_There’s metal all around me.  Metal and void._

_I can hear the engines whirring._

_I can hear the screams, hundreds of them, echoing in the vastness of the universe._

_I can see their bodies floating in the dark._

_I cannot save them._

_I cannot_

_breathe._

_I try to move._

_My muscles are aching._

_My name is Thor._

_My eye –_

_my_

_eyes - they are swollen._

_There’s a talking animal in the cockpit navigating this spaceship._

_I’m in a spaceship._

_I don’t know its name._

_But my name-_

_My name is_

_Thor._

_I have two eyes._

_I have a people._

_I-_

_had_

_A people._

_I had a home._

_I had a brother._

_His name was-_

_Hi-_

_His name_

_His name wa-_

The four letter word would get stuck in his throat and hit his senses so hard that he would wake up gasping in pain, unable to breathe as the panting turned into a choked sob.  It was the same, every time. The realization of his brother’s absence was the first thing to come to his mind the moment he woke up, and each time it was accompanied by uncontrollable whimpering as he covered his face, silently clawing at his cheeks, rubbing his forehead with his knuckles again and again as the tears soaked his pillow, trying to muffle the sobs with a fist in his mouth. Rocket didn’t need any of this, he had enough troubles already.

That was Thor’s daily routine, waking up with a knot in his throat, exhausted by the crying that put him to sleep the previous night and would never miss out on waking him up the following morning. The excruciating pain was the same, every time. He thought he’d grow used to it eventually but right now pain was all there was.

Pain was the one truth in the universe. Pain was everything. Pain had taken his brother’s place.

Maybe pain was there from the beginning of time, even before Loki was brought to Thor’s infant hands in his silken swaddling blankets. Maybe Loki had filled some void within Thor’s soul the moment he entered his life – a void that, in Loki’s absence, could only be filled with pain.

Some days he didn’t believe it, that Loki was truly dead, he had believed him dead so many times that he should have grown used by now. He kept telling himself that when he was trying to fall asleep – but in the morning he would wake up drenched in sweat, tears running down his cheeks even if he couldn’t recall crying.

 

One night he saw a dream he had seen before but when he woke up he remembered something new, something that was there all along, something he wasn’t supposed to forget.

He saw Heimdall; he saw his eyes. They were empty.

“Oh, they see everything,” the dead gatekeeper replied to Thor’s bewilderment, cupping his cheeks. “They see you leading us to Hel. We’re _all_ dead. Can you not see? Can you not see your beloved siblings, Pain and Death, over your shoulder, in everything you do? They’re the only family you ever had. Death rules us all and we all belong to Her - she’s the one destiny we cannot escape. And now Pain has joined Her since his place is only by Her side. On yours too if you can hold Him in your arms. If you embrace Him.”

Strange masked creatures were dancing all around them, laughing and disappearing behind tall columns of white marble.

Heimdall placed his hands on Thor’s shoulders. He wasn’t threatening anymore. “You see, Pain is what you and Death have in common, he’s brother to you both,” he explained. “Pain will show you the way if you can overcome Death, if you can convince Her. Because She’s a possessive one and will not let go of your beloved brother that easily, He’s Her biggest asset, Her strongest ally. You need to win Him over. And he’s waiting for you.”

Heimdall showed something behind Thor’s back.

Thor turned.

He stood frozen, the air trapped in his lungs, his every muscle clenched in fear and alertness.

A tall hooded figure was standing in front of him dressed in a black cloak, his face lost in shadow. Without a word the figure lifted his long fingers to wrap them around the rims of his hood and let it drop on his shoulders, exposing his broad pale forehead framed by raven strands of hair, his feverish sapphire eyes lit by the candles of the gilded hall, staring straight into Thor’s aching heart.  His tender, painfully familiar smile was painted with a tint of melancholy and mischief.

His voice, whispering and soft, reached the darkest depths of Thor's soul.

“Hello, brother.”


End file.
